Changing Your Ways
by XxKoumori-ChiexX
Summary: Francis picks up a young and wild punk, saving him from arrest. However Arthur will have to change in order to stay with Francis and out of jail.
1. Chapter 1

Arthur ran his fingers through his multi-streaked hair, sighing loudly. Another night, another bust. It probably didn't help his drummer was bloody wasted and he himself started a bar brawl.

Sitting down on the curb, he waited for the band to come by and pick him up. He decided to wander down the street, hit a couple bars, but instead of performing just have a drink for once. He spent all his bloody money on rum now all he had was a couple crumpled dollars, his guitar in its case, and himself.

Sighing again he glared at the television store across the street, with it's fifteen-some televisions all blaring for attention. Worrying his lip ring with his tongue, he watched a news report flicker across the screen.

"Three members of the band 'Tough F*cking Love' have been arrested for possession and use of opium. Police are currently looking for the fourth member, Arthur Kirkland, for questioning. Reports describe him as 'a twenty year old male with short dyed blond hair with multiple face piercings and tattoos.' Please report him if sighted. Authorities are unsure if he is dangerous or not."

Arthur stared at the screen for a moment, disbelieving every word. His band… used drugs? And as lead guitarist and singer… he knew nothing of it?

He looked into a puddle in the road to confirm he was himself. Left eyebrow stud, check. Nose ring, on the right side? Check. Snake bites? Tongue? Check and check. Multiple piercings… who cared what the bloody fuck any gave anyways? Wasn;t that the reason he started Tough F*cking Love in the first place?

A car pulling up and splashing the puddle onto the legs of his black skinny jeans snapped him out of his thoughts.

"What the hell!"

The passenger side window rolled down and a slightly older man looked over him, smirking. "Get in Arthur. Unless you want to get arrested zat eez."

Arthur looked down the street at the rapidly approaching lights and clenched his jaw. "Fine." He threw his precious guitar in the backseat then hopped up front next to the man, mistrustful, but more willing to get in a car with an utter stranger then be arrested for something he didn't do.

"And what's your name? From your accent you're obviously not from London. Or any part of glorious fucking England for that matter of fact."

"Ah ah ah~" The driver waved his finger at Arthur, infuriating him further. He had quite the short fuse. "Zat eez no way to speak about your country, ez eet not?" He winked at Arthur, smirking in a knowing way.

"Don't give me that shit! You know my name, why don't you tell me yours?"

The driver sighed as if dealing with a small child and glanced over at him, his aqua eyes twinkling. "My name eez Francis. You are correct, I am not from zis 'orrid country. I am French."

"Whadda mean horrid country!"

Francis sighed, only mildly amused now. This was going o be a long car ride.

**A/N: No no, I didn't die, though all of you probably want me to for not updating. Don't worry, I've got some PruIta ideas planned out, started this, have another FrUK idea in the making, all I really have to work on right now is Red and White Wood. My life has just been so busy since track started, but I'll do my best!**

**~Koumori**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Once again, sorry I suck at updating. I'll try to be more often but I make no promises. Not really much happens because I'm not very inspired but I figured anything might be appreciated. Tell me if I ever start getting too OOC**

Francis woke up with a splitting headache. No, it was more of a throbbing pain. Throbbing to the beat of… a guitar riff? The Frenchman stood up, holding his head, and pulled on some clothes before heading to his guest bedroom.

"Mon dieu…" Francis took in the wreckage of what was once his guest bedroom. The curtains had been shredded, the carpet had mysterious stains on it, the antique vase was smashed, and standing in the center was Arthur, grinning like a madman while playing his guitar. Loudly.

Arthur opened his eyes and smirked at Francis, "Like the redecorating? I got a little bored last night after you left me here."

"Do you know 'ow much zis bedroom cost me?!"

"Nope and I don't give a bloody shit."

Francis pinched the bridge of his nose and asked himself why he picked up the punk last night. Crossing his arms, he evenly stared at Arthur. "You will 'ave zis room cleaned up decently before breakfast in an hour. After breakfast we will start your lessons."

Arthur glared after him as Francis left the room before plopping down on the floor, refusing to do any work.

An hour later, Francis called Arthur down for breakfast. "Is ze room clean?"

"Hell no."

"Cleaner?"

"Hell no."

Francis grabbed Arthur's wrist, stopping him from taking his first bite, "Zen you get no breakfast Arthur."

Arthur yanked his wrist away from the man, dropping his fork in the process. "Fine. Like I bloody care about missing a fucking meal or two. Happens all the bloody time."

Francis' eyebrows furrowed as he regarded the younger man with worry. "You skip meals?"

"Yeah so?"

"Would you mind removing your shirt for a moment Arthur?" Francis carefully asked.

"W-what the hell! B-bloody pervert!" Arthur stumbled off his seat and took a quick few steps away from Francis. "I'm not your bloody whore!"

"Non! I merely want to see if you are underfed. If you would rather we can go to a doctor."

Arthur stared at Francis guardedly before muttering a quiet okay and pulling off his t-shirt. He hugged his arms tightly to his chest, staring at a point on the floor. "See I'm fine."

Francis silently stepped up to him and probed at his rib cage with his long fingers. "Non Arthur zis is not healthy. Eat. Lessons can wait until later." The Frenchman grabbed some cleaning supplies and headed upstairs to attempt to clean up the guest bedroom.

Arthur pulled his shirt back on and started eating. "What type of lessons does he mean? I'm not in bloody school anymore."


End file.
